


Claimed

by yespolkadot_kitty



Category: The Hollow Crown (2012)
Genre: Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Henry x reader - Freeform, Timey Wimey Bullshit, basically wish fulfillment, not historically accurate, some smut in a castle is what this is
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-01-16 16:43:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21274403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yespolkadot_kitty/pseuds/yespolkadot_kitty
Summary: Some smut in a castle.If you're looking for a bodice ripper with dubious historical accuracy, this is it. If however you want 100% historical accuracy then move along.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hopeless_romantic_spoonie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeless_romantic_spoonie/gifts).

_ In the name of the King, I claim this manor and its contents, riches and people. _

You thought of the words spoken so harshly just hours before as you’d desperately battled to hold your worn gates shut. You’d failed, of course. The gates to your keep were rotted from weather and you had no funds to maintain them.

The times were dark. Your father and brother had gone Crusading and your Uncle, left in charge of the manor and its occupants, had succumbed to sickness, taking to his bed before sunset most days. He kept the ruffians within the manor house walls in check, but the running of the household and other such things were left to you.

With your father and brother away, you were a prime target for neighbouring barons. And the time had finally come.

You lay on your bed, shivering, not with cold, for flames burned in the hearth, but with fear.

You pictured the knight’s face as he’d towered over you, a sword in his hand, victory and fire in his sea-blue eyes, the planes and angles of his countenance hard and unyielding. He’d claimed you for his own, and who was there to object? No father nor heir to the manor.

His face of planes and angles had been streaked with dirt from the fighting, a cut on his cheek oozing blood. He’d sent you to wait in your chambers for him as he, you assumed, took time to assert his new authority over the servants and lesser nobility within the different areas of the sprawling manorhouse.

You pressed your thighs together nervously. What would he want?

_ Oh, Jesu. _ You rolled your eyes at yourself. You’d seen stallions and mares copulate, hadn’t you?  _ That _ was what he’d want. And the fact you were  _ curious _ about it scared you as much as his height and breadth.

Your mother had died giving birth to you, but if she hadn’t-

She could have taught you about such things. Prepared you. As the baron’s daughter, you were above propositions from your peers, but your friends had whispered things. Things about touches in the dark. About pleasure and pain. About friendship and heat and the  _ petit mort _ that a man could give.

Footsteps sounded on the stone steps outside, and you tensed, holding yourself perfectly still, feeling like a child playing at hiding. 

The door opened, and for a moment he was silhouetted in the archway, only the tumble of his gold-and-sunshine hair and the line of his cloak visible. You swallowed, your mouth dry as he entered your chamber and then shut the door behind him, bolting it. The sound of the metal scraping home was very loud in the space, the silence only punctuated by the snapping of the flames at the piled logs.

Henry - his name as he had announced it to all upon claiming the manor as his own - advanced upon you. He caught your gaze with those arresting blue eyes, burning in his dirt-smeared face.

“Do you fear me?” he asked. His voice was deep, with a pleasing cadence you hadn’t expected when he’d taken your home by force.

You lifted your chin, determined that you would not be cowed. “No, my lord.”

A slight smile tugged at his lips. 

“Should I?” you were proud that your voice did not tremble.

“I would prefer if you didn’t.”

He turned after his words and you were thankful as it allowed you to hide your surprise. Didn’t he  _ want _ you to fear him?

You watched his long, lean form as he headed for the steaming bath of water you’d had the servants run. It had taken them several trips to cart the water up to this floor, and as they’d done so, you’d lain paralyzed on the bed, picturing your new lord bathing and knowing what he would likely want afterward.

“What do you want?” you asked, cursing your catching voice.

Henry looked down at the steaming water. “Before aught else, a bath.” He turned, a hand held out to you. “Bathe me, my lady?”

A rush of fear and desire, twinned so tightly you could hardly tell one from the other, slithered down your spine. Your gaze dropped down his tall body, drinking in the broad shoulders under his leathers. Fearing what might happen if you refused - he had claimed your home by brute force, after all - you slowly moved off the bed, your kid slippers sliding almost soundlessly against the stone floor. Finally you stood opposite him. He cupped your chin in one large hand, his touch surprisingly gentle.

“I do not mean to hurt you,” he murmured, in a voice that made you think of sin and trysts in quiet corners.

“And yet you take my home from me, my lord,” you replied brazenly, ignoring the quiver of fear racing through you.

“These are times of war, little one,” he responded quietly. “We must take what we can get, or else risk having nothing.”

“And what of women? Are we to have nothing?”

He pondered this for a moment, his poet’s mouth drawn in a firm line. “I give you my word, I shall not displace you from this manor. I grow weary of this, sweeting. I would have my bath before the water becomes cold. Help me undress.”

Your mouth fell open as he held your gaze, waiting patiently for his command to be obeyed. Your mind reeled at both his brazenness and the endearment he’d used - that quiet word quite undid you. Would you prefer if he took you by force? No. But his gentleness made you want to weep for the love you would most certainly never experience if this invader ruined you tonight.

Biting your lip, you lifted your fingers to the clasp of his cloak, nimbly lifting the fastening. The heavy material pooled to the floor at Henry’s feet, and you knew that now you’d begun, there would be no going back.

  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that this is VERY slow burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did some research into underwear!!! #notentirelyhistoricallyinaccurate

The sound of Henry’s slow breaths, in and out, was loud in the room where the only other sound was the crackling fire as it snapped at the pile of logs. You swallowed nervously as you looked at him, his dirty, tumbled hair the colour of the leaves in the first flush of Autumn, blue eyes silent and watchful.

Like this, stood before you with his cloak at his feet, he didn’t look like an invader. Like someone who stole your home. He was just a man standing before a fire, with the flames at his back, heat snapping in his sea-blue gaze.

“Continue,” he said softly. You hadn’t realised that your hands had paused on the fastenings of his burgundy doublet. The leather felt soft and worn under your hands, and you parted it almost reverently. It would have been expensive. The stitches holding it together were very small, a master tailor’s work. You unsnapped all the little fastenings until the leather fell loose on his lean, lithe torso, revealing the cream of his undershirt.

You had never seen a man aside from your brother and father, in an undershirt. It felt intimate, too intimate, and your curled your hands into fists. Your heart pounded. The organ felt as if it might escape through your throat.

Henry set a finger under your chin and tilted, gently but firmly, until you looked him in the eye.

“I will not hurt you. I swear it.”

You fought the urge to clench your thighs together, because he  _ would _ hurt you. You had never lain with a man before, and you knew from things your friends had said, things you heard the servant girls whisper, that the first time, there was pain and blood.

But, he was lord and master now, and you had little choice.

You nodded mutely, all of your earlier spunk withered at the reality of your situation. You pushed the doublet down his arms and it joined his cloak on the floor, the burgundy stark against the rushes on the stone floor.

Your own breaths sounded loud in your ears as you untied the laces on his undershirt. The material felt soft, warm from being against his body for so long. “I…. will need assistance to remove this,” you heard yourself say.

Henry nodded briefly and raised his arms. You wondered if he had looked like that, arms raised, in threat, when he’d breached the walls of the manor. But you couldn’t reconcile a brute with the man before you now, his gaze watchful, his body language unquestionably regal, but not a bit aggressive.

You pull the undershirt up and over his head, revealing a toned torso. Lean, but muscled. His body is that a conqueror, and speaks of long days in the saddle, long nights plotting battles, and long days wielding swords and cutting men down.

He should have scared you. But as you looked at him, really looked, you felt that first little spark of something like desire in your belly. If this was your only chance to know what passed between a man and a woman, then so be it. You would take it.

You hesitantly lifted your hands to his torso. Henry dipped his head, his gaze focused on you. “I am quite at your mercy,” he breathed, his voice low, intimate, for your ears only.

A blush made your face hot. His words made your hands move, and you spread them over his chest, over warm skin, roughened with whorls of golden chest hair, the colour of ripe wheat in the field by the stream you played in as a child. He felt hard and soft all at once, the sensations new. You peeked up at him to find him watching you, azure eyes intent in his face of planes and angles. A single golden curl flopped down over his forehead and you instinctively pushed it back. Something passed over Henry’s face, like that was the first tender thing he’d experienced in many sunrises.

“Breeches,” he whispered, and you marvelled at the note of command in his voice, although he didn’t raise it.

Your hands stilled on his chest and then you glanced at the water. It would be lukewarm before too long, and you couldn’t bear the thought of the servants coming in to refill it and seeing you and the new lord…. No. You needed to hurry.

Summoning the courage, you unlaced the ties below his navel and shoved the rough-hewn fabric down his thighs. His legs were sprinkled with hair the same shade as the errant curls on his head. A pair of braies covered his most private place from your eyes. You gulped in nerves as he stepped out of boots, socks and the breeches, leaving him stripped almost bare to your gaze, and you looked greedily.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Those lips made you think of sin, and unconsciously your intimate muscles clenched. 

“Your task is near complete,” he murmured. You heard the smile in his voice.

You were lucky, you knew. He could have pinned you to the bed, taken you by force. He could have covered your mouth with his hand while you wept beneath him, while the servants stayed away out of fear and training.

But he hadn’t. Instead he had coaxed you into undressing him before the tub of steaming water, flames dancing at his back, casting his pale skin in golden warmth. 

So you needed to be brave, because he could change his mind at any moment. Such was the master’s prerogative. You grasped the edges of his braies, the one garment left, hiding the part of him he would want to put inside you. You pulled it down.

You had seen such organs before on animals, but never on men. And never like  _ this, _ standing proud and flushed and red, unapologetic. Your heartbeat roared in your ears. Would he take you now?

But he simply stepped out of the garment. His gaze held yours, and perhaps he saw the panic in your face, because he said, his words washing over you, “As I said. Before aught else, a bath.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get smuttier.

The hot water rippled as Henry stepped into the large, hammered iron tub. He sat back, legs bent at the knees, head tilted back. How he managed to look so regal when his face and hair were so filthy was quite the feat.

Knowing what was expected of you, you knelt beside the bathtub, picking up the fresh cake of honey and thyme scented soap, taking a moment to inhale the earthy, herby, sweet aroma.  _ This _ was what your new lord’s skin would smell of when you were finished tending to him.

Henry reached down and picked up a cup fashioned of bone, handing it to you. You scooped up water and poured it over his shoulders, chest and back with your free hand. Then you lathered up your palms with the soap, spreading your slippery hands over the plane of his chest. He felt warm and solid under your fingers, and as you soaped him you noticed the tension in his shoulders. Without conscious thought, your hands slid up to those bunched muscles and you kneaded them, as you’d done for your father after he’d had a particularly taxing day.

He  _ moaned. _ And the little sound of submission sent a path of heat directly down through your body. You flinched then. Had it been a  _ good _ sound? Or-

“Continue.”

Your hands flexed at the word, but then you had the beginnings of an idea. Could you - would you be able to - use your touch to bend him to your will? Might it work? He seemed so pliable here, so willing to melt into your hands.

Could you, eventually, claim your home back? Or at least share it, equally? The idea was preposterous, you knew it, but if you didn’t try, for your father and brother’s sake, then what good were you?

“Perhaps my lord could ask nicely,” you whispered, biting your lip at your own bravado. Your legs trembled.

He turned to capture your gaze, one eyebrow arched as the hint of a smile played on his poet’s mouth. “Please, little vixen.”

The endearment - if indeed it was that - melted some of your sass away, but you did as he bid, seeing as he had asked  _ very nicely _ , your hands working at the large knots in his shoulders and at the base of his neck. That moan escaped his lips again, throaty, deep. You wanted to coax it out of him again and again.

So you did.

He sank further into the tub of water as you paused to gather more soap, then began to wash his hair. The thick, honey-gold strands were matted with dirt, but became silky soft between your fingers as the soap did its work. Henry closed his eyes as you rinsed and soaped, circling his scalp with your fingertips, giving it the same treatment as you had his shoulders.

“I named you well, vixen,” he murmured, eyes still closed. The lines of his face had relaxed into bliss and he looked younger suddenly. Untouched by battle, grief, blood, war. For a moment that stretched, your heart simply  _ ached. _

And you steeled yourself again. He had invaded, after all. You rinsed his hair once more, and then as you knelt behind him, Henry captured your hands and placed them low on his abdomen. Your belly clutched, half in fear, half in desire, as you looked down at the part of him that broke the surface of the now-lukewarm water.

“‘Tis my entire body that needs your attention, my lady.” He all but purred it. Even so there was no missing the note of authority in his velvet tones.

You had come this far. You were curious. And, you reasoned, if you did hope to learn about passion, and to seduce him, you could hardly balk at touching the part he intended to put inside you. Willing your hands to stay steady, you settled your chin on his shoulder. The water had warmed his skin and the heady scents of thyme and honey twinned in every breath you took. Your palms slid down his toned abdomen. He reclined a little further to grant you better access. You started with the springy curls that surrounded the length of him, gently soaping as a low sigh escaped Henry’s lips.

Then you circled the base of his shaft with your hands, gently exploring, learning the weight of him, the heat, the softness of the skin there. You watched him swallow, Adam’s apple bobbing as you grew bolder, testing him by running a finger up and over the blunt head, stroking, genuinely interested in this brand new male anatomy you were experiencing. You let your other hand play, fondling the base of him, where the skin surrounded his testes was downy soft.

“Jesu,” he bit off, stilling your hands. “No more.”

You jerked away as if he had bitten you. “I-” Mother Mary, you’d never be able to seduce him if he didn’t take pleasure in your ministrations. “I can learn.”

He rubbed a hand through his hair, and a muscle in his jaw ticked. “Any further learning and I fear you would be the end of me.”

_ Oh. _ Oh. So he  _ had _ liked it. Very much.

Henry stood up in the bath. Water slicked off his long, lean body, the firelight catching on the cut of his hips, the tightness of his thighs. As the flames snapped in the hearth, they cast a warm red glow on his damp hair as it curled at the base of his neck.

You stood up to meet his gaze, and he held it. You forced yourself not to look away, but after a moment, his eyes dropped to your mouth. He lifted a hand, smoothing the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip. The flesh there was so sensitive that you flinched a little in surprise.

“Do not fear me, my little vixen,” he whispered. 

For now, all thoughts of seducing him for your own ends simply fell out of your head as you drank him in. His lashes were long and dark, his cheekbones cliff-sharp, his damp hair winding boyishly around a face handsome enough to give even an angel pause.

“I don’t fear you, my lord.”

“Then what?” his voice was barely audible, despite the quiet room. 

Your world had narrowed to this man, this moment. “I want you,” you replied.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tension continues to wind up and up, and we get to the bed, finally!

Fire flared in his deep blue eyes, the piercing azure darkened by the atmospheric room, lit only by the snapping fire. “Truly.” It was not a question, and you knew he could probably see the curiosity and  _ need _ in your own gaze.

“Truly,” you responded.

Henry dropped his hand from your mouth. “A towel, perhaps.” Again, he phrased it like a request, but the lion’s rumble was there under the words. You crossed to the foot of the bed where your softest linen towel lay folded. You shook it out, the white fabric soft against your hands. The blue border caught the firelight as you dried off your new lord without being asked. You knew it was expected of you. 

When you’d finished his torso, he bent so you could dry his hair. He was acting the part of the silent subservient, but you couldn’t help but wonder what went on behind that facade. Was he playing you as you were him?

Probably, if he was as smart as he seemed. But were you not smart, too? Your father had been teaching you to read and to make sums before he’d left for the crusades. You could hold your own amongst men, dangerous as that was for a woman.

_ I would make a fine wife for him. _

The thought scared you, but, wedded to the lord, you would have more control than just being his consort.

First, though, you’d have to win his heart. And before that, you’d have to control his body.

Fire leaped to the place between your legs at the thought. Breaking your silent plans, Henry stepped out of the bath on to the floor of rushes so you could dry his thighs, calves, and the part of him that still jutted forward, eager for more attention.

“Vixen,” he rumbled. “I can all but see the wheels turning inside that head.”

You felt a flush creep up your neck. “Merely focusing on drying you properly, my lord,” you mumbled.

He smiled crookedly. “Come, now. Where is the bold vixen of a few moments ago?” 

_ Oh. _ So he  _ did _ like it when you were forward. This pleased you. He wouldn’t - at least not right now - expect you to behave like a meek little church mouse. That was good, because meek was something you’d never been.

You smiled up at him, then began to dry his most intimate place, bending slightly so your face was level with it. The fact that he wanted - and  _ would _ \- put it inside you gave you some disquiet, but you couldn’t say you were not curious.

He huffed out a breath as you eased the cloth over him, stroking as you dried. After a few moments he took the towel and tossed it aside, and within the space of a breath, he had scooped you up in his arms. “Enough playing, minx.”

You clutched at his shoulders to hold on as he strode to the bed, laying you on it, then coming to stretch out beside you. The flickering light from the fire cast all sorts of interesting shadows over the planes and angles of his body, kissing the copper in his tousled, damply curling hair, picking out the slivers of gold in the scattered whorls of his chest hair. Spellbound, you reached up to smooth your fingers through those little curls where his heart beat a steady tattoo. He was beautiful; a leanly muscled lion, tamed for a single night.

As you continued to spread your palm over his chest, Henry bent his head and fit his mouth to yours. You expected a rough, claiming kiss, but instead his lips barely whispered over yours. He tasted of your father’s finest mead and the savoury flavour of roasted meat, a heady combination, making you hungry for more. Experimentally, as you’d heard your friends whispering about it, you slipped your tongue into his mouth, touching his own. His reaction was instant, pressing your lips open wider, matching your passion with his own, a lion’s roar of a kiss. Your other hand came up of its own accord to tangle in his damp, warm hair, soft as tattered silk between your fingers. His shaft lay hard and warm, insistent against your thigh through the fabric of your kirtle. You wondered that he didn’t seem in a rush, just continued kissing you as if it was the endgame; all he wanted.

But of course, not. Even as he continued exploring your mouth, all languid, sensual fire, his clever fingers started to loosen the laces of your kirtle, exposing the thick linen chemise beneath. He didn’t pull it down, instead contenting himself with tracing the outline of your hardened nipples under the material. You sucked in a sharp breath at the contact, his touch and the friction of the material sending bolts of heat right to your core. Unconsciously you saw your hips twitch.

Henry smiled against your mouth. “First I must make you ready sweeting.”

“More ready than this?” you asked, genuinely confused. What else did he need to do? Now, you knew, you would truly learn about what happened in the dark between a man and a woman. What all the smiles and whispers really alluded to, and it scared and excited you all at once. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally. The sexytime. Tab A into Slot B.

The flames licked at the logs in the hearth as Henry helped you into a sitting position on the bed. You automatically lifted your arms as he eased the kirtle and chemise up, up, over your torso. Your breasts tingled as the material brushed them on its way over your head. Your hair caught momentarily and Henry took a moment to ease the strands from their prison before completely ridding you of the dress and chemise. The room was so warm from the fire and Henry’s body heat that you didn’t feel cold.

He set your clothing aside with more gentleness than you’d expected, and you felt a prickle of nerves as he looked his fill. Your nipples tightened almost painfully under his silent scrutiny. “What are you thinking?” you blurted out, before realising that perhaps you shouldn’t have spoken.

He glanced up, his eyes dark now, unlit by the fire in the hearth. “That you are exquisite.”

You hadn’t expected that, and his soft words sent a rush of heat between your legs. He lifted large hands to cup the undersides of your breasts, thumbing the nipples, and you let your eyes drift closed, enjoying the intimate contact. Would it ever be thus between you? Or would be expect to rotate women in his bed? In this bed?

The thought upset you, and for now you pushed it away. If you hoped to control his body and therefore him as your endgame, you had to be in the moment. No distractions. You had to be a good lover, and if not good, then at least eager.

You kept one hand on the bed to rest on as you let him touch you, and used to other to explore slowly up his thigh, smoothing your palm against the hair there. At a leisurely pace, although your heart pounded, you crept your fingers up and up, until you could almost touch the part of him that jutted up, hard and swollen. Henry’s gaze flicked to your hand, and then away again, refocusing his attentions on you. You took that as permission. Wrapping your hand around him, you watched his face go dark, intense, eyes narrowing for a moment as he drew in a breath.

He didn’t bid you to stop. So you pleasured him as he pleasured you, and all the while, that heat at your core grew and grew. A ball of tension gathered in your stomach as Henry’s hands worked their magic on you, and you  _ knew. _ This feeling of anticipation, of excitement and nerves and intimacy, this was what the whispers and soft laughter were about. These were the same flames that had danced between your mother and your father when they had made you.

You curiously swept your thumb over the blunt head of his erection and he tensed, then moved your hand. “Patience, vixen.”

He lay you back, glancing up at you through his lashes as he bent his attention to your body. Parting the slit in your plain linen drawers, his fingers stroked through your curls. No one had explored you in such an intimate manner, and for a moment your thighs clamped around his hand.

He flexed one finger against your folds. “Before long you will squeeze those thighs around my hips, sweeting,” he murmured, and his quiet confidence made you part your legs. He was right there, sliding one clever digit where you were wet and swollen and ready, and the quick wonder of the pleasure that flashed made your hips arch. A small, keening sound drifted on the air and you realised belatedly that it came from you.

Henry worked you expertly. The sound of your wetness against his moving fingers was loud, obscene in the room, the space silent save for your gasps. You helplessly clutched as his hair as you tumbled over the cliff into bliss. You had previously only brought yourself to such a state, and then only in the dead of night, when no one would know.

“That’s it,” he murmured against your neck as you writhed. “Come for me.” Another flick of his fingers and a fresh wave assaulted you. You lay back, spent, your eyes drifting closed as the little aftershocks rocked you, physically, emotionally.

You were dimly aware of Henry removing your drawers and stockings before moving over you. He braced himself between your legs and you gazed up at him, this larger than life man who had invaded your home and who was about to invade your body. “This will hurt but once, sweeting,” he murmured.

You nodded slowly. You knew about the pain. You didn’t know about what came after. You braced your hands on his upper arms as the tip of his shaft pressed against you, then into you, the pooling evidence of your recent climax easing his way. He lowered his mouth to yours, capturing your lips in a kiss - and surged his hips forward.

You loosed a cry against his mouth at the sudden, sharp burn. You whole body protested. Henry held perfectly still, kissing you tenderly, like butterfly wings brushing the leaves of a sunshine-greedy plant. And slowly, slowly, the pain eased, although the sensation of utter fullness did not.

But that was all right. You actually quite  _ liked _ that sensation.

You experimentally lifted your legs closer to his hips. The move made him tense inside you, the line of his shaft jumping against your womb. It was….  _ Good. _ You squeezed your muscles around him and he did it again. This time, you all but purred.

“I have awoken a succubus,” Henry groaned against your mouth as you kept up the experimental squeezing of your most intimate muscles around him, enjoying the way his breaths grew ragged. “Are you yet in pain?”

“The pain is going.”

“Then perhaps… more.”

Your eyes widened. “There is more?”

He chuckled softly, and then he began to slowly withdraw. You clutched at him. “What-”

“Rest easy, sweeting. I am hardly leaving.” He withdrew halfway, then slowly slid back in. As you held him to you, you reflected again that this could have been so different. Savage. Heart-stoppingly painful. He could have torn your tender flesh, and instead he took time to make you wet and ready. To make it good.

Who was playing whom?

All thoughts dropped from your mind as he continued his leisurely pace, bracing himself on one arm to let another hand play at the apex of your body, teasing that swollen bud over and over, until another crash of pleasure broke over you. At the same time you heard Henry curse brokenly before he surged into you, once, twice, and then collapsed atop you, his breath ragged and fast.

“Jesu,” he murmured eventually.

You tensed. “You did not like it?”

He coughed, rolling on to his back and bringing you with him. “I liked it far too much. But look, vixen.” He gestured to where the sheets were spotted red with your virgin’s blood. “I would hang those sheets from the manor windows to proclaim to all that you are mine. That I was the first to touch you in a such a way. But to do such a thing would shame you.”

He was right, but after he’d all but torn you apart with pleasure, you could find no anger. Just warmth, and exhaustion. You curled into him, and Henry pulled up the bedcovers and furs over both your bodies as sleep stole over you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the hiatus. I've had two family gatherings and two birthday parties. Oy!


End file.
